


it's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, implied personality disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason <i>hates</i> Brucie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hard to keep track of you falling through the sky

The first thing Jay learns about Bruce is that he’s kind of fucked up. Which -- isn’t surprising, the guy dresses up like a freakin’ bat and nearly gets himself killed every night, but it’s all the little ways that he’s fucked up that takes Jay a while to pick apart. Like, how he’s not even sure if Bruce has his own personality anymore.

There’s Batman and Matches Malone, Brucie when he’s at charity events and galas, the Bruce he gives to Alfred and the Bruce that sits in his study reading french poetry when it rains, and Jay -- it’s hard to tell if any of them are actually _him_ or if they’re all just masks that he puts on to serve whatever purpose he needs at the time. 

But Jay figures it makes sense. Everyone in Gotham’s a little fucked up. Why should Batman be any different?

 

: : : 

 

At first it’s hard for him to figure out _who_ Bruce is when he’s talking to him at any given moment, but just like he trains himself to dodge bullets and find every exit in any building he’s in within sixty seconds, he eventually trains himself to figure out which persona Bruce has slipped into as soon as he enters the room.

“Nope,” Jay says when Brucie swaggers up to him, flinches and squirms away when Brucie’s thumbs dig into his shoulders and tries to massage them. 

“Aw, c’mon, tiger,” Brucie laughs. “Whatcha reading?”

“Nope,” Jay says again, inching down to the other end of the couch. “Not talking to you.”

Jason can’t _stand_ Brucie. 

Brucie wears different cologne that makes Jay feel like he’s suffocating, calls him _tiger_ and _sport_ and tries to get him to wear shirts with collars too high, tries to set him up with _nice girls_. Dick thinks it’s funny, knows Brucie’s a necessary evil when they need to get information on the dirty rich fucks in Gotham, but he’s not around all the time. He’s not there when Bruce slips into that idiot douchebag persona for no reason at all and tries to get Jay to play _tennis_ with him. He’s not there when Brucie comes home with two blonde bimbos on his arm and keeps him and Alfred up all night. 

“C’mon, Jayboy,” Brucie says, ruffling his hair and Jay glares at him. “Don’t be like that.”

“Fuck off,” Jay says and takes his book up to his room to wait him out.

 

: : :

 

Dick hates Matches like Jay hates Brucie. 

“I hate this,” he says for the fifteenth time as they watch from the shadows as Bruce -- Matches -- chats up a couple of drug dealers. “I hate watching him act like...that.”

“Yeah,” Jay says, but after they get the information they need and Dick takes off, Jay drops down in the alley, soft on his feet, and scares the shit out of Matches.

Matches jumps out of his skin, fumbles with the cigarette in his mouth. “Christ jesus, kid,” he grumbles. “Gonna give a old bastard a heart attack.”

“You’re not that old,” Jay says, walks up into Matches space and steals the cigarette out of his mouth. 

“Neither are you, kiddo,” Matches says, smirking, and Jay just rolls his eyes, puts the heel of his pixie boot against the wall behind him and takes a drag from Matches’ smoke. “‘Specially not to be walking ‘round the neighborhood in goddamn _panties._ ”

The way Matches says _panties_ makes Jason’s skin crawl, makes his dick _hard._

“Can’t believe the Bat lets you out like that.”

“Maybe he likes it,” Jay says, exhaling a stream of smoke, and Matches leers at him, takes a step forward and rubs the rough part of his thumb over Jay’s hip where his tunic doesn’t quite reach. 

“I’ll bet he does,” Matches voice rumbles over him, makes him feel dirty in the best way. “But I bet he don’t _do_ anything about it, does he?”

“He thinks I’m too young,” Jay says, flicking the butt to the side, then licks his lips as Matches looks him up and down.

Matches hums and grabs Jay by his hips, yanks him forward so he can say next to his ear, “Good thing I ain’t him, huh?”

Jason moans shamelessly and reaches for Matches zipper. “Can I --?”

“Baby boy, with a mouth like that it’s precious that you think you even have to ask.” Matches laughs. “Now, get on your knees and suck me.”

Jay moans when he gets Matches in his mouth, whimpers when Matches gets his hands in his hair and pulls Jason on his cock, fucking his mouth like he knows exactly what Jason needs. 

“That’s it,” Matches growls when Jay chokes around him a little. “You love it don’t you, baby? Get your hand down your little panties for me, kid.”

Jason shoves his hand down the green Robin panties and pulls his dick out as he gags around Matches cock, comes all over his hand after barely three strokes.

“Jesus,” Matches mutters, holding Jay’s face between his hands. “The Bat know how much of a little cockslut you are?”

Jay’s eyes roll back into his head when he moans and Matches’ hand tightens in his hair, then Jason’s tasting him when he floods his tongue with come, feels it warm all over his mouth and cheeks when Matches lets his dick slip out and drags it over his face. 

“C’mere, fuck,” Matches growls out in that raspy, two packs a day voice that drives Jay crazy, hauls Jason up off the ground and licks the come off his face, brings Jay’s hand to his mouth and licks that clean too. He looks like he’s about to kiss him when gunshots ring out a few blocks over and he pulls away.

“Gotta head out, kiddo,” he says. “But you know where to find me when you need more of this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jay says as Matches pulls his hat down and heads down the alley. He knows where to find him. 

 

: : :

 

“Good morning, Master Jason,” Alfred says the next morning. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jay says, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Long night. There still any breakfast?”

“Of course, though you’ll have to find it in the refrigerator, I’m afraid. Oh and Master Bruce is waiting for you in the study.”

Jason stops in the middle of pulling out a plate of waffles. “Bruce?” He asks and Alfred smiles.

“Indeed,” he says. “Who else?”

Jason grabs a cold waffle off the plate and leaves the rest on the counter and practically runs up the stairs and down the hall to the study. Bruce is sitting in his chair wearing Jason’s favorite sweater, his hair still wet from his shower, and he’s reading Baudelaire. He gives Jay a small smile when he sees him, then pats his leg. 

Jason shoves the rest of his waffle in his mouth and goes over to him, crawls in Bruce’s lap and wraps his arms around him and Bruce slides a bookmark in his book and sets it aside, rests his hand on the small of Jason’s back. 

“I missed you,” Jay says when Bruce kisses his throat and runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair. There’s no gel, no hairspray, no product added for greasiness, and it’s perfect. When Bruce kisses him he still doesn’t know if this is really him, if this is actually Bruce underneath all the layers and personas and masks he’s gotten so used to putting on that they’ve all become a permanent part of him, but this is Jason’s favorite one anyway. 

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Bruce says, giving him a curious expression when he pulls away, and Jason just smiles at him and grabs his book from the table next to his chair. 

“Read to me,” he says, shifting around in the chair to get comfortable, and as soon as Bruce’s french starts to wash over him, it begins to rain.


End file.
